


Bite

by delicatebelief



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 23:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatebelief/pseuds/delicatebelief
Summary: Prompt: Amputation (not very detailed on it though)In the zombie world, even one small mistake can cost so much.





	Bite

**Author's Note:**

> The zombie lore is based off of The Walking Dead's lore, however it's still pretty common lore so I believe it should be easy to follow along with it. As happy as one would expect in the kind of setting.

Sweat, tears, shouting. And blood and more blood. Confusion, fear, anger. Then more blood.

A herd, he recalls, hanging on to anything other than this very moment. Please, God, let him think of anything but this. Anything but the searing pain.

A herd. That's right, there was a herd. Fifty or so zombies, all ready to end the group's lives right then and there. To end their struggle. To make their fight for their lives come to a halt. All just for a meal for a never satisfied hunger.

Oh God. How many did they lose? How many of them died? It was so quick, so fucking quick. And it was so dark, so sudden and there was just too damn many of them.

And yet somehow, he lived. He got to live. And for a moment he thought he made it out okay. That he would see tomorrow. That he could see the next sunrise. But one small mistake was enough to put that all at risk. One small, stupid mistake.

He forgot to check his bullets that day. He counted them daily, made sure he always knew how much he had on him, made sure he never got cornered with nothing to protect himself. But he didn't today. And now his arm. His arm was gone and it was all his fault.

"I had to do it!" He faintly hears the shouts of his would-be surgeon. "I had to do something to stop the spread of the infection!"

"You cut off his fucking arm!" The second voice was one he knew, one he could tell apart from an audience of a hundred. "You didn't even try cleaning the wound. He could have been fine!"

"You're fooling yourself, Kuroo. No one's fine after being bit. It was either that or watch him turn."

Perhaps it was from frustration of losing people. Or maybe it was just someone putting the image of watching his friend turn into one of those. Whatever it was Kenma could tell Kuroo grew more aggressive in their conversation. That tone, from that point, told him so. However he couldn't make out the words anymore.

Don't fight. Not because of me. Not today. Please don't fight.

He wanted to get up. He wanted to tell them to knock it off. But blood loss existed and it worked wonders when it came to overcoming pain. Everything around him continued to fade until it was no more. Heavy. That was the first word to come to mind trying to explain how he felt. Then heavy but light. Then lighter and lighter until he saw Death's door.

But it was a door that would remain closed.

-

Sometimes we feel as though we've met our end. That we can't take anymore. How could we possibly take anymore? Life has thrown everything it can at us and enough is enough. And all we want at that point is to rest. To rest and no longer deal with the cruelties of this world.

That is exactly how Kenma felt when he passed out. He was ready to take that everlasting rest and yet his eyes opened the next morning just like on any other day. So he cried.

He cried for his lost friends. He cried for his missing arm. But most of all he cried because he knew that there was nothing he could ever do to make life okay again for those who still lived. He could help them survive, sure. But there was no going back to how things were before. Even if they could somehow find a place safe enough to build up there were some scars that just ran too deep. No one was ever going to be the same again. Not his friends. Not his family. And especially not him.

So he wept. He cried his heart out, unable to stop and unaware that someone else was there until they took his hand. They said nothing, allowing him to vent his despair while providing silent comfort.

He was unsure of how long his tears went on for; it was either ten minutes or an hour. But when he did finally start calming down the other person finally spoke.

"I'm sorry."

He couldn't reply. Words were failing and the most he could manage was a weak sound of acknowledgment. He went to wipe his tears away with his free hand, only to remember it was no longer attached, something he never considered he'd have to get used to.

'Don't blame yourself,' he wished to say. He knew how Kuroo had burdened himself with his safety, so this must be seen as a failure to him. So if nothing else Kenma wanted to tell him that it wasn't. That there was no one else to blame. But he couldn't yet. Even if he could, would Kuroo ever believe that? Probably not, Kenma thought. He'd never believe it and yet Kenma was ready to tell him everyday until he opened that door and joined Death in the afterlife.

But before then and before anything else there was this. A pause in the horrors of the outside world and the comfort of a close friend. If he were lucky there would never be anything but this. Nothing but this respite. But he couldn't fool himself into thinking he was a lucky soul.

So he will cherish and prolong this moment, squeezing Kuroo's hand and closing his eyes as Kuroo rested his head beside him. And his mind would take him back to a happier time, back when school and volleyball were the biggest of his worries. Back when they could still freely discover themselves and back when a silly mistake just led to a bad mark or missed shot. Back when they would have sleepovers without the sleep and tired eyes the next day. When they'd walk to Sunday practices, training extra hard in order to make it to nationals again. To feeling like they could stand on the top of the world.

Because even if they have nothing now they will always have these moments. Moments that not even Death himself could steal away from them.


End file.
